


The Killing Darkness

by DaimeryanRei



Category: Yu-Gi-Oh!
Genre: Darkshipping, M/M, Yamishipping, clashshipping - Freeform, psychoshipping
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-07-25
Updated: 2017-06-19
Packaged: 2018-07-26 17:03:44
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 9
Words: 14,898
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7582507
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DaimeryanRei/pseuds/DaimeryanRei
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Collection of Yamishipping fics (including Darkshipping, Clashshipping, Psychoshipping). Please read individual warnings/summary for every fic.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

Title: Survive any Storm  
Theme number and theme: #41, Power  
Genre: supernatural, slight violence   
Rating: M  
Warnings (if any): a little bit of blood  
Character or pairing: Clashshipping (Yami no Malik x Yami no Yuugi)  
Short summary: You can find power everywhere, even with the weirdest people and in the weirdest places.

\--------------------------------------

“Your power is nothing compared to mine. Hollow, empty, pathetic.”

“You are not the one to talk, Malik.” 

“Oh exalted Pharaoh, please share with me your infinite wisdom.”

“You are not being funny.”

“Why should I want to be? There’s nothing funny about being a Tomb Keeper, you know.”

“I know.”

Malik hisses as cold, yet soft fingertips touch his back. Even though the ritual has taken place over six years ago, the scars feel like they have been made yesterday; still raw and fresh, painful and bloody.

“You know nothing.”

The Pharaoh actually snorts. “Now that is the truth.”

Malik bats his hand away. Not a few moments ago, the Pharaoh’s long, slender fingers were touching him somewhere else, and he had enjoyed it, much more than he’d ever admit. Sure, his intention had been to kill him, obviously; darkness and destruction are the only things he, the real Malik Ishtar, knows. 

“Quite convenient that you lost your memories.” He mimics the Pharaoh and snorts as well. “Really fucking convenient. You don’t know anything about our pain and our suffering.”

“You speak the truth.”

Malik shakes his head. “No no no, you’re not getting away with it, not that easily. Do you like playing the martyr? Are you telling me that _you_ are the victim in all of this?”

“Who knows? I do not recall anything from the past, from _my_ past. I do not know what kind of ruler I have been. I do not know what I have done to make you…”

“You made us guard your fucking precious memories,” Malik snarls. “You made us guard your fucking precious Items.” He takes a deep breath and grins wolfishly. “You made me defile your divine body.”

That eludes a similar grin from the Pharaoh, at ease in the purplish, cloudy mass that is the Shadow Realm. Malik realizes he has his hand on the Pharaoh’s right leg again, stroking. All that anger and hatred, has it disappeared just because he was able to turn him on his back and take him? No, not able to. _Allowed_ to. No matter what happened, the Pharaoh was in control all the time. 

“You were talking about power.”

Malik is distracted for a moment, as his fingers are kneading the Pharaoh’s inner thigh. Almost repulsed, he wants to let go and push him away, but he can’t. 

“You have none,” he answers. “It doesn’t mean anything. Hollow, empty and pathetic. There’s no one in this world who’ll listen to you, except for your merry little gang of friends who follow you around. Do you really think there’s going to be a nation waiting for you to command? You have no name. You have no voice. You have no memories. Pathetic.”

“At least I am not the one screaming his head off about destroying the entire world and enveloping it in darkness.” His last word gets cut off as Malik grabs him at the throat, while his other hand digs painfully in his flesh, nails tearing at the skin. It’s oddly satisfying, seeing just that little flash of fear on his face before he calls upon his shadow magic; much stronger than Malik’s, and he can throw him off in an instant.

“Don’t mock me.”

Those eyes. Those intense, reddish eyes with a purple hint, befitting the Shadow Realm. Framed with black long lashes, eyes to drown in, eyes to take complete control over you, eyes to die for… 

Another gasp. He can’t answer, he’s too busy fighting for air. Malik feels how blood trickles down his other hand, his nails digging deep into the Pharaoh’s skin. He moves his hand lower, tearing and shredding, and those reddish eyes close in pain. His lips part to pronounce that typical ‘ah’ sound he likes to make, half-moan, half-grunt, something unintelligible yet sexy, and Malik seizes the opportunity. He roughly presses his lips on the Pharaoh’s, teeth biting down hard to create another source of pain. As he kisses him, the Pharaoh protest, his body bucking, squirming and spasming but he continues to ravage him, possessing him, dominating him. Malik’s golden earrings scrape over his cheek, the tips not as sharp as the Rod, and he creates bruises and welts, yearning for pain, to inflict it, to feel it, to revel in it.

The Pharaoh presses his knee into his abdomen, twisted and contorted, but lacking the strength to push him off. Malik grins into the kiss, tugging at his bottom lip, growling and grunting. His fingers dig deep, his grip far too tight; anyone else, anyone _human_ , would’ve already passed out. Yet, the Pharaoh still chooses to not use his shadow magic, and Malik knows exactly why. It’s just as arousing for the Pharaoh as it is for the Tomb Keeper; a weird, or funny, coincidence perhaps? Malik had always thought that the other wanted nothing but peace and quietude, but it had been more than a surprise when the King had drawn first blood, to which Malik had responded by tearing all of his clothes off, that stupid silly school uniform he was always wearing.

“You need me,” Malik breathes against his lips, still tugging, distorting his words. “You have no power on your own. The shadows sing of Bakura’s name. He’s up to something.”

He doesn’t receive an answer, not that he expects one. The knee against his chest presses into his ribs; uncomfortable, but not painful. Besides, the Pharaoh isn’t in a position to put any pressure or strength behind his actions; Malik still had his hand on his other leg, pressing him down, and another hand on his throat. The Pharaoh’s hands are on his shoulders, fingers on his skin, once again touching the scarred lines. It’s just the slightest touch, but Malik involuntarily shudders and pulls away, releasing his grip on the Pharaoh’s throat. He starts to cough, taking deep gulps of breath and coughs again.

“What is it you say,” he sneers as he has gathered his bearings again. “That you have more power? The power to stand up to Bakura? You have nothing but a few scarred lines on your back, carved by a madman! Is this where you derive your power from?”

Malik backhands him casually, splitting his lip. A delicate drop of blood trickles over his chin, and he leans into the Pharaoh to lap it up, his tongue dragging over the cracked skin. “I told you not to mock me.”

He turns his head, the Pharaoh who’s much smaller and less physically strong than him, and his eyes focus on him as he gently smiles. _Power_. He’s got it all backwards, hasn’t he? It’s not about Bakura. It’s not about Darkness. All this talk about power, and Malik realizes that he’s not the one with the most power. Not here. Not now. Maybe never. He moves his hand again, blood staining his fingertips, and this time his grip relaxes, kneading the flesh instead of bruising it. _Power_. It means nothing to him. After all, he’s a being born out of pure hatred and anger, what does he know? He loves the shadows, he loves pain, he loves destruction and above all he loves the Pharaoh and to hurt him, knowing that the one he hates the most holds power over him, infinite power, and he’s oddly fine with it, as long as he holds the power to hurt him.

\---------------------------------------- 


	2. Leave me here I'm dying

Title: Leave me here I’m dying  
Theme number and theme: #22, Fear  
Genre: general  
Rating: M  
Warnings (if any): none.  
Character or pairing: Yami no Yuugi, Yami no Bakura, Yami no Malik  
Short summary: Even the ruthless Darkness knows fear.

\--------------------------------------

“You son of a bitch.” I spit at him. I can’t move. I can’t believe they used my own Shadows against me… I can’t believe that my own Shadows _are_ against me. It’s of no use to try to wrestle myself free; once caught in these dark bounds, it’s impossible to escape. “The both of you,” I snarl. I can’t stand their faces and how smug they’re looking down upon me. Pharaoh and Tomb Keeper, the most unbelievable, most unfortunate thing had happened: they worked together to trap me, the Darkness itself, and bind me with my own beloved Shadows.

Malik takes it as a compliment, of course. His stupid grin widens; one would interpret it as wolfish, deranged, but I see the eagerness and the greed behind it. I don’t understand. In all my plans, I never factored in these two working together. Malik’s weaker self, before he got taken over by his aggressive, dominant other personality, had hurt the Pharaoh’s precious vessel, Yuugi, before. Not even I had been that bold; the thought had come up in my mind, as endangering the vessel would certainly bring out one pissed-off, over-protective Pharaoh. I never had need of the vessel, I had need of the Pharaoh. 

He stares at me, with those narrow reddish eyes, face frowned as if he has to take a difficult decision. I wonder what’s going on in his mind for a brief moment, before I squelch that thought. I want to know how they have managed to find each other and come up with a plan to restrain me. I must know. I am the Darkness. These bounds should mean nothing to me, yet they hold me firmly in place. The Pharaoh and the Tomb Keeper don’t speak. Is this some kind of mind game? Are we playing a game at this very moment, with my life at stake? I can’t die in the Darkness. But to stay here forever, bound and immobile, isn’t a very appealing one.

“Get out of my sight,” I say with more bravado than I actually feel. If they leave, I’ll be all alone. It doesn’t matter. I want them to leave. Those betraying bastards! I growl. 

“You heard him.” The Pharaoh speaks. The height difference between him and Malik is comical and I want to laugh. I want to mock them, this unholy couple, this unfortunate pair, as it dawns to me. How stupid must I have been, to overlook one of the most basic principles in this world, in any world? _The enemy of my enemy is my friend_. Of course..! I should’ve included it into the many options I considered, but for some reason, I thought that Malik hurting the Pharaoh’s precious vessel would rule out any kind of collaboration. It’s pissing me off; all that hard work and centuries of patience for nothing!

They don’t leave, not yet. Malik of all people, turns towards the Pharaoh and puts his arm around him, pulling him closer. My eyes widen. What the..? My eyes are deceiving me, my Shadows are lying to me. Malik’s darker personality, the embodiment of anger and pain, being affectionate? But I see it happen, right in front of me, that he leans into the Pharaoh and _kisses_ him; not the tender, gentle kind, but a forceful, overwhelming one. He holds him tight at the waist so the Pharaoh can’t get away, but to my dismay, the other doesn’t protest… he answers the kiss, tilting his head slightly and apparently complete comfortable with the way he’s ravaged.

To my dismay. Why would I feel this way? Why _am_ I feeling this way? He means nothing to me. He’s my goal to destroy, my enemy to exact revenge upon, why should it bother me that he’s being kissed? And Malik… well, Malik’s obviously crazy. I stare at the both of them; mesmerized, fascinated. I don’t want to admit that a lunatic has what I wanted to have: the Pharaoh to himself. Patience, sweet patience, I’ve been patient for so long. One day he _will_ be in my arms and when I kiss him, I’ll take his last breath with it. I watch intently, a little too intently, perhaps. My body starts to react and I turn my head away. What kind of torture is this?

“I’ll see you soon,” Malik’s dark half promises the Pharaoh and the Shadows swallow him. He’s gone. I turn my head back to face the Pharaoh, slowly.

“What did you promise him?” I ask. I must know.

He doesn’t answer immediately. “My body,” he finally says. I bark a short laugh.

“Fool!” …but I don’t know who I’m referring to. He takes a step closer and involuntarily, a gasp escapes me. I’ve studied him for ages, I know how he looks like. But he’s never been this close to me before, and it’s like… a frightening beauty that I’ll never be able to grasp, that I’ll never be able to understand. My earlier annoyance and anger dissipates. He raises his hand and cups my face. I hiss as if his touch is burning me. It does, in some way. It’s my enemy touching me. On the other hand, his fingers are cold, freezing cold - the Shadows aren’t a welcoming, warm place. 

“I promised him he could do to me whatever he wants,” he says, his voice low. I find myself leaning into his touch. What the hell’s going on with me? 

“Release me,” I say, breathily. “Release me, and we’ll destroy him together.”

His thumb slides over my skin. I want to taste him. “What do I need to promise you?” he asks.

_I want your body too_. “I have never harmed your vessel,” I say. “I would never harm him.”

“You raise a strong point.” I can’t read his eyes. Those reddish eyes, framed by those long, dark lashes. I know how he looks like. I’ve always known how he looks like. My stomach ties itself into knots. I never really paid attention to… physical reactions before, but now it feels important. I’m worried. I’m worrying. If he leaves me here, I’ll be alone. I don’t want to wander the Shadows alone for millennia again. “He is very important to me.”

“I have only harmed myself,” I say. “My yadonushi-sama is also very important to me.”

“I know.” Does he stand on his tippy-toes, as his face is almost on equal level with mine? “You took Osiris’ attack just to protect him.”

“I did.” I sound almost relieved. “See how important he is to me? See how much I understand you?”

“Bakura.” He whispers my name with such intensity that it scares me. Me, Darkness itself, scared? It’s a kind of fear that I can’t describe well. I want his lips to touch my skin, yet my bound hands are itching to grab his throat and choke the life out of him. All my carefully laid out plans, my endless patience, everything is ruined because I didn’t want to consider one possibility, one option that I had rejected because it had been too absurd for words. 

He’s so close that I can smell him. The desert, rough and hot, cruel and merciless. Had I been so wrong? Had all his preaching about friendship and justice and how he would save the world been a façade? How patient had the Pharaoh been? I can’t come up with an answer. My churning stomach and my heart beating like crazy add to this confusing mix. Where did I go wrong? Had everything been in vain? Had he seen through my strategy even before I started to make my plans? 

“Work together with me,” I say and I don’t care how I degrade myself by pleading. “We can get rid of Malik and end the threat he poses.”

“Threat?” The Pharaoh still has his fingers on my skin, touching, caressing. Cold and hot, and it’s tearing me apart. “Do you really believe that _Malik_ is a threat?”

“He has the Sennen Rod,” I manage to answer. It’s the first thing to come up in my mind and it sounds pretty stupid, even to my own ears. The Items aren’t the standard of power here, they don’t weigh into the balance at the moment. I know, and he knows, and he smiles at me. A knowing, I-have-got-you-right-where-I-want-you-to smile, devoid of any kindness. I’ve seen his Other smile, this Yuugi kid, all warm and happy and friendly. It made me sick. Now it makes me sick that I rather want to see that smile than the one of the Pharaoh; his eyes don’t match the coldness, they even _surpass_ that coldness. How can anyone with such fiery red eyes look so cold? So void?

“He has nothing,” he answers and I believe him. Malik is a fool. He probably thinks he has the upper hand because of his Item, or because of his aggression. He thinks that the Pharaoh is meek and obedient as long as he doesn’t hurt his precious friends. Oh, what a fool. I almost envy him. For all that he’s worth, Malik’s darker personality is a simple, one-track mind: total devastation, temporarily sidetracked because the object of his revenge promised him some playtime. The object of _my_ revenge as well, who’s standing calmly in front of me. And I was wrong, so wrong. I wasted millennia on careful plans, on being patient, on gloating over my intelligence and how I had anticipated every move and countermove. 

“Don’t leave me here,” I say. I can’t move. My breathing is erratic, my chest heaving. He’s going to leave me here, without a chance of escaping. Without any chance of help. I’m helpless and I want to scream, spit, cry, laugh and howl at the same time. I have killed. I have murdered. I have betrayed. I have mocked and I have manipulated, all for my own gain, all for my own goal. It slips through my fingers, out of reach. I actually don’t blame myself for my mistakes, and I don’t blame anyone else. I don’t even mind a setback. I can always adjust my plans and continue. But now that the Shadows are against me, holding me back, I… can’t. And I wouldn’t mind that either, if it weren’t for me being alone. I don’t want him to leave me. He’s the last… human I’ll ever see.

He doesn’t kiss me. His smile intensifies, just as the harsh chill coming from him. “You think I care about my vessel?” His voice is even colder than his eyes. “Do you think I care about the pain Malik can inflict on him? I only need him to be alive. That is all.”

I want to shake my head. He presses his fingers painfully into my skin. “But you, Bakura of Darkness, you are much more dangerous. What you can do to my vessel, is to destroy him with your delicious Shadows. You can take him to a place he never will be able to return from. You are capable of destroying his mind, and that is something I do not want to happen. I need him to retrieve my memories, not to wander around like a mindless madman.”

“That’s you,” I say. “You’re the one whose mind is wandering around.”

“Perhaps. Are we not all crazy?” He shrugs. He withdraws his hand abruptly. “I will recover my lost memories. I will find out who you really are and what you have done to me… or what I have done to you. I commend you for your perseverance, Bakura of Darkness. But your menace ends here.”

“You can’t..!” One more tug, one more struggle, but the Shadows don’t budge. I want to lunge at him but I can’t move an inch. He doesn’t even flinch or take a step back. “This is your idea of justice, isn’t it? You’ll tell yourself you did this to protect your vessel and your friends, but you’re nothing but a killer! A murderer! Your ‘justice’ is worth shit!”

For a moment, I think he’s going to hit me in the face, but in fact he brings up his hands to button up his jacket. 

“I have to go,” he says. “My vessel needs to do his homework and he has agreed to meet up with his friends later today.”

“Don’t you dare leave me!” I roar as the Shadows start to shroud him, taking him away from me. I don’t know how long it’s going to take me to break myself free, if it’s possible at all, and I don’t know how long I can resume my previous plans - but I have been alone in the Shadows for so long as well, and I don’t want to do it all over again. Of course this is what he’d choose for me as his judgment and punishment. Hatred consumes me, but it’s not enough to drown out the fear. Not enough at all.

\---------------------------------------- 


	3. That which you speak of, will have no name

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sins of the father pass on to the son.

Title: That which you speak of, will have no name  
Theme number and theme: #39, Sins  
Genre: introspective  
Rating: M  
Warnings (if any): none  
Character or pairing: Yami no Yuugi & Yami no Bakura (Darkshipping)  
Short summary: Sins of the father pass on to the son.

\--------------------------------------

He’s handsome, I’ll immediately agree to that. I have no trouble saying it out loud either. I know how he likes to hear it: whispered in his ear, a low tone of voice, almost moaning. Our Pharaoh is a little vain, but I don’t mind; despite what people think or say about me, I’ve never told anyone a lie. So if he wants to hear he’s very handsome, beautiful even, I’ll tell him the truth. I’ll whisper it, I’ll scream it, I’ll cry it out.

My hands are on his shoulders. I lean into him. “You have such small shoulders for someone with such strong arms.” He doesn’t answer. Is he just dozing off, or has he fallen asleep already? No, he mumbles something in return, unintelligible. I prod with my fingers as if I want to poke holes in him. His skin is firm and he tightens his muscles some; my touch isn’t gentle. I didn’t expect him to come visit me, after my defeat in the Battle City finals. I told him to attack me full-force, that I would spare his little friend Bakura Ryou as his body was very dear to me. I took Osiris’ blast right on and it knocked more than just the wind out of me. Don’t let anyone say that our Gods are merciful, because they aren’t. Only by retreating into the far corners of my _yadonushi-sama_ ’s mind I was able to survive.

Hence my surprise when he entered my room aboard the Battle Ship. He send the girl away, who had taken it upon herself to watch over my host, and of course she abided his wish. He only had to say “Anzu, please get some rest, I will keep watch over him” and she thanked him before leaving, telling him that he was so kind. I wanted to laugh; my King being kind? How could she have known, though? She doesn’t know him like I do.

“Such small shoulders to carry such a heavy weight.” I should shut up before I say too much, I don’t want to spoil my plans to him. This has been a very pleasant surprise, but I shouldn’t let my guard down. It’s tempting, though. Very tempting. I lean into him and press a kiss right there, between his shoulder blades. To think that I, a thief and a stealer of souls, is capable of kissing, isn’t that strange of a notion. Somewhere, deep down, I’m human too. I haven’t lost my humanity, not completely. Not yet. If it weren’t for my _yadonushi-sama_ , I wouldn’t have been here at all: human, spirit, vengeful ghost… or whatever one would call me nowadays. I don’t care. 

He hears me, but I doubt he remembers the words. I like this moment too, the moment after, when you’re coming down from your high, when everything came together all at once and the sensations were too overwhelming to withstand them. Contrary to my King, I don’t sleep. I don’t feel at ease enough to let go of the tension. After all, he’s my sworn enemy, even if he doesn’t know it. Or perhaps he doesn’t care. He seemed pretty pissed during the duel though, but perhaps it was his vessel’s influence about ‘not hurting my friend, how could you, I will never forgive you, blah blah blah’. The King I once knew wouldn’t have hesitated to send Osiris after me to rip my body and soul apart.

“But you’re not like that, are you?” My breath tickles on his skin and he shivers. It’s just a reflex, but to be certain, I tilt my head a little to look at his face. Eyes closed, lips slightly parted, features relaxed. Why does _he_ feel safe when I’m around? Why do _I_ feel safe when he’s around? It was so different with Malik. Aggressive, stubborn, angry. It took me ages before I could take a look at his back and marvel at the carvings. Oh yes, it looked painful with the heavy scarring, but the symbols and hieroglyphs were more than obvious to me. It was a confirmation that I was on the right path, no matter how much time it took; the best laid plans need time to come to fruition, and I have all the time in the world. “You don’t have your memories,” I continue to whisper, aware that I’m walking a very fine line. If he wakes up and starts questioning me… no, I haven’t come this far to let everything slip through my fingers. Not at the very last second.

His back is bare of course, no scarring there. He doesn’t know anything about the horrors he put the Ishtars through, the ill-fated Tomb Keepers who are driven by hatred and revenge… he doesn’t know anything, and I can’t wait until the moment is there when I’ll reveal everything to him, slamming him with the truth, striking him with the horrors of his reign… of his father’s reign, and what he has done. I don’t care that it’s the son I’m after. The sins of the father pass on to the son. Akunamukanon didn’t sacrifice himself, he just plain died. That he’s out of reach, made it easier for me to latch onto his son. Ah, but that’s just a mystery, even for me… why his son appealed to me, why his son opened up to me… because we’re both the dark sides of a soul? Because he’s curious if my symbiosis with Bakura Ryou is similar to his with Mutou Yuugi? I don’t think so. He’s vain and selfish, and he’ll pay for what his father did. Until then, can’t I enjoy a small moment of victory to myself? 

My King is strangely submissive, the ease he turned his back to me, the way he… trusted me not to hurt him. Was it a game, some kind of test, to see how far I’d go? Or was he convinced, in his arrogance, that I simply wouldn’t go far at all? I’m not sure, but does it really matter at the moment?

“You should go back to your own cabin,” I say. Or room, or quarters, or whatever it’s called on board of a blimp. “Won’t your friends think it’s strange that you’ve spend the night here?” Well, if they’re all that gullible to believe he’s keeping an eye on my _yanodushi-sama_ , then there’s no problem. But I need some time to think, and I need some time to take care of things. On the other hand, I don’t want him to go yet. He feels warm, and like I said before, he’s handsome. I like to look at him. I’m not in love with him, absolutely not - oh no, and I’m still going to destroy him. For what he did. For what his father did. One day, one moment, he’ll remember it all, when I tell him, when I whisper it into his ear. He’ll be handsome in all of his agony, and I’m going to savor the pain in his eyes.

“You are right.” His voice sounds so clear, so lucid, that it makes me gasp. Has he overheard me? How much has he heard? Why have I been talking so much anyway? 

“You’re awake,” I say, feeling like a fool. I press my fingers hard in his back, but I’m not angry with him. He grunts.

“I am _now_. What are you doing?”

“Nothing.” I lean into him again. “It’s time for you to go.”

“Yes, I know.” He turns his head around to seek eye contact with me. “You were saying something about sins? I never knew you were such a talker.”

I don’t blush. I don’t shake or tremble. I just stare back, gazing at those reddish, fiery eyes. “Don’t we all have our sins?”

He frowns and for a moment, I truly believe he’s going to say “I do not have any sins, for I am the Pharaoh” or any pompous shit like that, but he shows me a very small smile and says: “I guess so. You were my sin this evening.”

“Get out,” I hiss at him. Obedient, he rolls away from me and throws his legs over the edge of the bed. I watch him gather his clothes, and I watch him dress himself, as if he has no other care in the world. I have no idea what I have done. He can interpret my words, the ones he overheard, any way he wants. Let him stew on it, let him dwell upon it; all will become clear later, when I decide what to tell him, and how.

“What was your sin this evening?” He suddenly asks.

I bare my teeth at him. “Not knowing your name,” I answer. “I would’ve loved to say it to your face.”

Now he scrunches up his nose. He doesn’t share my sense of humor. Hurtful or not, perhaps it’s my sin indeed to not know his name; I haven’t retained that important piece of information in my memories during those millennia. It would’ve given me a gigantic lead in the game I’m setting up, a key piece that would gain me almost instant victory. It’s a shame. It’s a sin. But I have never known my father, so the sins I’m committing are all mine. Just like his body was mine. Just like his heart will belong to me, one day, when I hold it in my hand and watch its last contractions. Then it’ll be all over. No more sin. No more light. No more Pharaoh, no more people. Just Darkness.

\-----------------------------


	4. The Darkest Edge of the Soul

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Do not ever invoke the wrath of the Pharaoh.

Title: The Darkest Edge of the Soul  
Theme number and theme: # 64, Black Magic  
Genre: general  
Rating: M  
Warnings(if any): violence.  
Character or pairing: Yami no Yuugi  
Short summary: Do not ever invoke the wrath of the Pharaoh.

\------------------------------------------

Pain. A world of pain, everything hurts. He doesn’t understand how it happened. How could it have happened? No signs, no warnings. From one moment to another, darkness and pain. One second everything was fine and all right, the next second was an explosion of pain, and everything is dark. He’s used to darkness though, it’s not like his Puzzle is a shining beacon of light. _Puzzle_. He was inside the Puzzle, wandering around as usual, amidst the stairs and doors blocking his memories, trying to find that one door that would open. It was a normal school day, Yuugi had a math test this morning, nothing out of the ordinary.

He tries to move. His body feels strange, cold, limp. He can’t move. Sounds. “Who is there?” It’s not his voice. That raspy, squeaky sound couldn’t be his voice, could it? His throat feels dry and he coughs. Another sound, like rustling fabric. He’s not alone. “Who is there?” No answer.

As he can’t recall what has happened, he tries to search his mind to fill in the blanks. Yuugi and his math test. After school, they’d go to Burger World, their usual place to hang out. He didn’t want to be intrusive, so he stayed in the background, in his Puzzle, until Yuugi would call for him. But this… he groans. His neck hurts. He brings up his hand and touches the back of his neck - and a paralyzing fear overwhelms him. The chain is missing. He’s not wearing his Puzzle! Where did it go?

He can’t see anything in this darkness, his eyes need time to adjust. He needs more information to determine a strategy, to figure out what to do… Yuugi. _Aibou_. He can’t feel him anymore. Ever since Yuugi solved the Puzzle, they developed a ‘mindlink’ of some sorts, a connection that’s not exactly telepathic as they can’t reach each other’s thoughts, but it somehow allows them to feel each other’s presence. It’s not only dark around him, but it’s also dark in his mind. Silent. Hollow. _Empty_. That warm, comfortable, reassuring feeling that Yuugi is there… it’s gone. He tries to move again. _Get up. Don’t lie on the ground. Get up on your feet._ He moves, but just as he’s about to push himself up, a heavy weight hits him in the back and pushes him to the floor again.

“You’re awake,” a voice echoes around him. He can’t pinpoint the direction it comes from. “Nice. Takeru thought he’d killed you.”

He grunts in return. “Who are you?”

A short, barking laugh. “O~ooh! Awake _and_ a big mouth!”

“He told us he was strong. Surrounded by pitch-black darkness and he doesn’t even squeak.”

_He_? Every little piece of information is important. Why can they see _him_ when it’s so dark? 

“Who are you?” he repeats.

“Don’t mind us.” Chuckling. “You’re ours to play with, for now.”

“Don’t get too excited, Sumatsu.”

Takeru and Sumatsu. Their names didn’t ring a bell at all. Had he done something bad to them? Had he wronged them somehow? He can’t remember and worse, he can’t ask Yuugi. _Aibou_. Where is he? The weight on his back is lifted and reflexively, he rolls over on his side. Wrong move. A foot plants itself in his stomach, and he doubles over. 

“What did I say? Don’t get too fucking excited! He has to remain in one piece!”

“He still _is_ in one piece,” the other with the child-like chuckle responds. Sumatsu reminds him of Malik Ishtar’s dark half: violent, ruthless, mindless, laughing at pain, his own or anyone else’s. Takeru is more like Bakura Ryou’s dark half: more cautious, apprehensive, strategic. Bakura… could he be the ‘he’ Takeru was talking about? Is Bakura behind all of this? Who knew. He hasn’t seen him since Battle City ended, and the Spirit of the Ring draws his own plans. But it’s not his style to involve others, is it? 

He coughs. This darkness, however… it’s not the Shadow Realm. If it were, he would’ve felt the despair of the roaming souls, lingering in a place where they can’t move on, haunting themselves for eternity. This is ‘just’ a pitch-dark room. Somehow this knowledge comforts him. No innocent people were dragged into this. The next kick hits him in the back and the pain returns with a vengeance. 

“Why are you doing this?” he manages to croak out. His fists punch into empty air. It’s of no use. Even if he could land a hit, it wouldn’t make much of a difference. He’s not that strong, physically, and all of his muscles hurt, his limbs hurt, his head hurts… He never made it home, which means he’s still on school grounds. Domino City High has many class rooms, storage spaces, offices… he could be anywhere in the large building. Wait... maybe this is the same room Anzu had been lured to quite a while ago, by that lecherous, perverted creep? Then this is a storage room, located far away from the class rooms, and it would be futile to cry for help; no one would hear him. Anzu... Jounouchi... Honda… where are they? He hopes they’re safe, as he’s in no condition to go and rescue them - _he_ needs rescuing. He’s convinced his friends are looking for him. He only needs to hold on, until they find him.

“Why do you even ask?” The voice he connects to Sumatsu, sounds bored. The next moment, he’s kicked again and he rolls into a fetal position. “You’re the stupid one here, walking around with a chunk of gold around your neck. Did you never think someone would try to rob you?”

Another kick, and he grunts once more. Sumatsu isn’t holding back, and the physical pain is hard to bear. The only comforting thought is, that Yuugi isn’t in charge right now; if his aibou is hurt… 

“We’re going to melt it down, you idiot,” Sumatsu speaks again, interspersing his words with that infuriating chuckle. “Piece by piece, chunk by chunk. We’re going to be rich! And all we have to do, is to beat you up.”

Where’s the other one? Where’s Takeru, and why isn’t he talking? He rolls over again, expecting to be kicked once more and yes, the pain follows immediately. “This is boring.” Sumatsu punches him on the shoulder and he cries out, surprised by the sudden attack. “We should just take that gold and be done with it.”

_Be done with it_? With _his_ Item? With _his_ Puzzle? Anger overwhelms him. He has taken enough by now, hasn’t he? These punks are trying to rob him, to take his most prized possession… _Yuugi_. Yuugi is in the Puzzle. They switched bodies when these assholes knocked him out. He had automatically taken Yuugi’s place, suffering the pain. He would do anything to protect him. 

“Where is it?” he growls.

“Takeru? What should we do now? This is no fun.”

He’s not sure what’s going on. Takeru is silent, and Sumatsu grows impatient.

“Takeru? What are you doing, man? Keep it in one piece!”

“This is going to be fun,” Takeru said, his voice coming from further away. “There, I’m done.”

“What are you doing? You broke it?”

Broke _what_? Takeru laughs. “He told us that he loves games. Now, this is the perfect game, don’t you think?”

Another chuckle, coming from Sumatsu. His voice grinds and squeaks as he joins in the laughter. 

“Bakura,” he mutters under his breath. Then, louder: “Did Bakura ask you to do this?”

“Huh, what? I don’t know his name. He just told us stuff about you, and how we could get our hands on your gold. He said something about ‘testing you’, but I don’t care. I just want money.”

“And chicks.”

“And a boat. And a Maserati. A Jaguar!”

“A plane! We could go to America!”

They both laugh. It grates on his nerves. It hurts his ears. _He said something about ‘testing you’_. He moves his arms, trying to stabilize himself, trying to get up. _Ignore the pain. Get up!_ His hand slides over the floor and his fingertips touch something. A small object, smooth. He grabs it, closes his fingers around it. They mentioned a game. Well, if need be… these kids are innocent, yet obsessed by their own greed. An easy prey to manipulate. Bakura is the culprit here. He doesn’t know what kind of plan this is, but the thief will pay. First, he needs to get his bearings and… the object feels familiar. Heavy. His breathing hitches. Frantically, wildly, he fumbles around and there it is, another object, smooth and heavy like the other.

“Hey, I didn’t tell you to start already!”

The hard kick to his stomach throws him over the floor, rolling a few times before he slams into a wall. His entire body protests, high-strung and tensed and he barely refrains from vomiting. He still holds the two objects in his hands, his fingers curled around them with such ferocity that he has to force himself to relax. He doesn’t need any light to know what they are. In the distance, he hears Sumatsu and Takeru mumble. “… rules….” “…when he fails to find a piece in time…” “…kick…”

A piece. He has two pieces already. Two pieces of his Puzzle. Takeru has taken it apart and spread the pieces through the darkened room. His Puzzle. His Sennen Item. Taken apart by an innocent kid, overcome with greed. He wants to melt it down. He wants money. He wants a Maserati. The Puzzle. Yuugi’s in the Puzzle. It has been taken apart. _Yuugi_ has been taken apart. His _aibou_ , shattered all over the floor. 

“Yeah, that should do it,” Takeru decides, sounding content. “We can start..”

“Hey, what’s that? Did he bring a flashlight with him?” Sumatsu asks.

“What do you mean? The…” As he looks over his shoulder, Takeru sees a strange, lit shape in the far corner of the room. It’s like… an eye or something, but stylized. Two curved lines with a dot in the middle, almost crude, but somehow terrifying. The light that comes off it, is cold and harsh. Takeru takes off his night vision goggles as the light blinds him, and he hears Sumatsu doing the same.

“Hey, what are you doing?” He asks with more bravado than he actually feels. “No fair!”

“No fair?” The booming voice startles them. The anger is clearly audible and Sumatsu takes a few steps back. “You brought me here, you beat me, you kicked and punched me, you took something very dear from me, and you are talking about ‘no fair’?”

“Hey man, it was just a joke,” Takeru says, but his voice is shaky. He should never have listened to that white-haired kid with the doe eyes. _Just play a game with him_ , he had said, _test him a little. The gold is yours_. Why had he even listened in the first place? The gold… that massive chunk of gold… he just wanted a little money to fulfill his dreams... 

“Just roughhousing,” Sumatsu adds and chuckles again, nervously. He gasps the next second. More light, in the definite shape of two eyes; blazing, infuriated eyes with an intensity that burns them. Neither one knows who’s the first who starts screaming. 

He doesn’t even open the Door of Darkness for them. He denies them entrance to any afterlife, to any realm of peace. He tears their souls apart, ripping them out of their bodies and shredding them in front of their eyes, glazing over as they fall to the floor as empty husks. He splits their souls in so many fragments that it’s impossible to retrieve them all; blinding, hot rage that fuels his magic: dark magic, black magic, Shadow magic. The Shadow Realm welcomes the torn, fragmented souls, welcoming them as if long lost brothers, and the screaming and the wailing only stops after he has send the last piece away, the Shadow Realm hungrily accepting them, almost embracing them. The magic is gone, and he’s drained. He almost collapses, not realizing that he had gotten up, his anger so all-consuming that it blocked out the rational part of his mind. What has he done? He’s not the vengeful spirit anymore, is he? He vowed to stop giving out penalty games after he had learned of the sinister nature of the Sennen Items, including his own Puzzle. _Puzzle. Yuugi_. He sinks to the floor. He’s still holding the two pieces, his grip so tight that they have left imprints on the palms of his hands. The ragged breathing is his. Yuugi’s not gone. His aibou is right here, and he’s going to be so pissed when he hears about what happened. _No more batsu games, mou hitori no boku._

“I kept my promise, aibou,” he says, a smile on his face as he speaks to the darkness. “The game had not even started yet.” 

It takes him a while before he starts searching for the rest of the pieces. His body’s still aching, his own soul’s still aching… but as the magic has died down and he takes up residence in the corner of the pitch-black room, he patiently puts the pieces of the Puzzle back together. He doesn’t need a light. He’ll see his light soon enough, when he’s done. When he finishes solving the Puzzle. His light is all that counts. He would use the darkest, blackest magic possible if that would mean he could see his light again. 


	5. Embellishment

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Darkness will always refuse to acknowledge the light.

Title: Embellishment  
Theme number and theme: #30, Christmas  
Genre: introspective  
Rating: PG  
Warnings (if any): none  
Character or pairing: Yami no Malik & Yami no Bakura (Psychoshipping)  
Short summary: Darkness will always refuse to acknowledge the light.

\------------------------------------

He stares outside, looking at the abundance of multi-colored lights adorning trees, houses and the streets. It looks festive, it’s charming, but the lights appear cold to him, shining too brightly in their attempt to drown out the darkness surrounding them. Some of these well-lit decorations are massively over the top, as if the one who put them up wanted to make sure that no darkness would ever enter his or her house again.

 _Silly. Foolish_. Darkness is everywhere, and no light would be able to chase it away forever. How could darkness ever be chased away from the heart? He narrows his eyes. He’s foolish himself, thinking these thoughts over and over again. He’s a patient man, but even he can get impatient every now and then. This day’s making him nervous, but he doesn’t know why.

“There you are. Admiring the lights, Bakura?” His voice is like gravel, harsh and raspy, yet smooth in the way he pronounces his words. He accompanies his sentences with a low, throaty chuckle, not bothering to hide his disdain.

He doesn’t owe him any explanation, not after everything that has happened. It seems like ages ago. “I like to see how efforts are wasted.”

A snort. “What are those lights about anyway?”

“It’s to celebrate something called ‘Christmas’. Didn’t your host tell you?”

“Don’t be stupid. He doesn’t even realize I’m still around.”

Bakura’s lips curl up into a joyless smirk. “I would love to see the Pharaoh’s face when he realizes he has failed.”

“Speaking of which… will His Majesty join us for this… festive meeting?”

He shakes his head. “My yadonushi-sama has invited him for tomorrow.”

“Tomorrow?”

“That’s the actual day of Christmas. This evening is called ‘Christmas Eve’.”

“‘Christmas Eve’,” he repeats, incredulous. “Anything to keep oneself distracted, I guess.”

“How did your host react?”

A mere shrug. “My shujinkaku-sama was very pleased with the invitation. After Battle City, nothing much has changed. It’s not like his life has magically taken a turn for the best. He lacks the willpower to take matters into his own hands.”

“He had the willpower to cast _you_ out, Malik.”

“Don’t get me started.” He grins nonetheless. “His ‘surrender’ was the most pathetic thing he could’ve ever done.”

He doesn’t answer. Does the other speak the truth? Was it truly Malik Ishtar’s ‘most pathetic thing’ he could’ve ever done? He’s not so sure. His own host is often silent, it’s not like they interact much -- but Bakura Ryou has stopped the Darkness more than once, thwarting his plans. An unexpected setback, just as he was about to win; his yadonushi-sama made it clear to not mess with his friends. His ‘friends’, including the Pharaoh. Bakura stares in front of him, mesmerized by the holiday lights. What does it all mean to his host? He hasn’t decorated his own apartment, but he has invited Malik to come over. To think that he would accept said invitation… after all, they barely know each other! …but he’s aware of his yadonushi-sama’s happiness that the Egyptian has come over at this time of the year, leaving his siblings behind. What does it mean? Is he overlooking something? 

Malik stands too close to him. He doesn’t like it when people stand too close to him. He’s a loner, he’s always been alone. Ever since his family has been killed… his hand goes to his chest, to the Ring. It gives him comfort, as far as he needs anything like ‘comfort’, to touch it, to make sure it’s still there.

“It’s magnificent.” Malik’s voice all but startles him. As if he has forgotten that he was there, and Bakura takes in a deep gust of breath. 

“You haven’t got yours anymore, do you?”

“No. My shujinkaku-sama surrendered that one as well. As he did with your Ring.”

A crooked smile. The Ring always returns to him, without fail. Has the Pharaoh realized yet it has gone missing? Would he admit his second failure? Malik isn’t surprised to see it again. A creature of Darkness, the both of them; they’re not equal, but not that different from each other either. 

“You’re…” His sentence is cut short as Malik grabs him with his hands on his waist and pulls him roughly closer, smashing his lips against his. He wants to push him away, but Malik’s hands are everywhere; Bakura’s smaller wrists are caught in a vice-like grip and his body refuses to obey him, overwhelmed by the other’s brute force. He reaches for the shadows in an attempt to summon them, but then it’s over already. It’s Malik who pushes him away and he almost loses his balance.

“What the hell was that about?” he angrily demands to know.

“Don’t get too close,” Malik answers. His pupil-less are bland, yet ironically beautifully lit by the Christmas lights outside, shining through the window. “My shujinkaku-sama is mine. I have plans for him.”

“Too close?” The absurdity of the moment almost makes him want to laugh.

“Don’t you know what Christmas Eve means?”

Bakura purses his lips, and tastes a small droplet of blood. “What’s the meaning of Christmas Eve?”

“It’s a holiday for couples to spend time together, and exchange gifts. You don’t know?” The amusement in his voice is infuriating. Malik tilts his head. “Consider this my gift to you. I’ll spare you your life, if you step back.”

“You…” It dawns on him, the reason why his host has invited the other hosts over. Not the Pharaoh, he’s invited out of politeness to celebrate Christmas, but Malik… to spend the night before Christmas. It’s almost funny. Who’s more pathetic? Malik or Bakura, who hopes to chase away his loneliness? _Is that what you’re looking for, yadonushi-sama? Someone to share your grief and pain with?_ Those lovely, lovely shadows that have surrounded him his entire life, consuming him every day, they have blinded him for the truth; Bakura Ryou is far stronger than he thinks he is. Malik shows disdain for his own host, treats him with indifference, like an object. He’ll make the same mistake; he’ll underestimate his shujinkaku-sama. He deems him pathetic, deems him weak - only to mask his own weakness, his fear of being banished once more. Does he fear the Pharaoh’s arrival tomorrow? Does he think that he was only invited to be banished again? 

“Don’t ever touch me again,” he grumbles. “I’ll tear you apart.”

“I wouldn’t do that if I were you. You’d make your host terribly, terribly upset.” The confidence in his voice matches the Pharaoh’s, but there’s just this little hitch to it, a little tilt, only noticeable if you know where to pay attention to. 

“I don’t care for my host’s emotions,” Bakura gives back. “I only need him as a vessel.”

Malik remains silent. In any other circumstances, Bakura would describe him as handsome. His flawless tan skin, so fascinatingly contrasted by his platinum blond hair and golden jewelry, those mesmerizing eyes with the dark lashes… but he doesn’t care for beauty. There’s no room in his plans, his life, for anything aesthetical; he hasn’t felt any love for anything since the moment he found himself lost in the shadows. He’d been so young… but Malik had been young too, when the ritual took place that gave birth to the dark side standing just a few steps away from him. Maybe that’s what his yadonushi-sama is after. To share. To love. 

“I’m leaving,” Malik suddenly announces. “It’ll be too conspicuous if my dear shujinkaku-sama experiences too many blackouts in a row. I don’t want to alert him of my presence. Not yet.”

“I know.” Bakura looks at him blankly. “Maybe you should ask the Pharaoh for some tips and tricks on how to smoothly interact with your host. It would make life so much easier for you.”

“You’re an idiot.” It’s so easy to anger him. “You call yourself the Darkness, but you acquired your powers. I was _born_ from the Darkness, and I doled in the shadows long before anyone could ever know of my existence. You have no right to criticize me, Bakura. I vanquished you before, and I’ll vanquish you again.”

Words. Sentences. What does it matter? He doesn’t need Malik. He doesn’t fit in his plans. He’s not welcome. Bakura squints his eyes, just a little.

“Are the lights too bright for you?” This time, his voice’s just that little bit lighter. Curious, child-like.

“I shouldn’t stare into them, but I think they’re so pretty.” He turns his head to the side.   
“I’m really glad you could make it, Malik-kun.”

A relieved smile. “Yes, I’m glad too. I wasn’t really sure at first, returning to this place… but it’s a good thing I did.”

“A really good thing.” He doesn’t add anything more. The silence is comfortable, despite the darkened room, bringing out the intense brightness of the lights outside.

\------------------------ 


	6. All that is lost

Title: All that is lost  
Theme number and theme: #29, Forgotten  
Genre: introspective  
Rating: M  
Warnings(if any): (thoughts of) explicit violence  
Character or pairing: Darkshipping (Yami no Yuugi x Yami no Bakura)  
Short summary: Reminiscing isn’t the same as taking a trip down memory lane.

\--------------------------------------

He’s asleep. As he should be; I kept him busy more than long enough to totally and completely drain him. As a matter of fact, I should be asleep as well; my body is longing for the rest, and somewhere deep inside I might even enjoy lying down next to him. No rest for the wicked, isn’t it? It’s too much of a risk. My Host has school tomorrow, and it’s already late. I still have work to do. My apologies, _yadonushi-sama_ , but it’s going to be a short night for you.

I should put on my clothes and leave. I get up from the bed and look around for the garments, cast aside on the floor, lying here and there. It takes me a little time to gather them all and I dress myself slowly, every movement silent and stiff. I keep my eye on him, and tell myself that I like to keep watch over my prey, to immediately respond should something change - him waking up, for instance - but inside, I know better. I wanted to call him by his name, but he has forgotten it. I don’t remember it either.

Strange. Well, it’s actually not that strange. The human mind is prone to remember bad experiences, traumatic experiences, awful experiences - not the happy, fluffy, wonderful kind of memories. There must’ve been a time when I had a mother, and I’d like to think that she held me lovingly, just like any mother would hold her newborn. But what I remember, is seeing her bloodied and battered, lying on the ground with broken eyes and blood gushing from deep wounds all over her face. Her hand, outstretched, the fingers in unnatural angles. Was she reaching for me? 

She got lucky. At least she was already dead before she was thrown into that… cauldron. Before she was turned into an ingredient and mixed together with gold to create those forsaken Sennen Items. I can still hear the screams of those who were still alive before they were cooked. Those horrible screams when flesh came into contact with boiling liquid. The smell. That awful smell. That’s why I eat my meat as raw as possible. I can’t stand the smell of cooked meat.

The Puzzle is on the nightstand. He’s been terrible sloppy to just put it there; he should praise himself lucky I don’t have a need for his Item, just yet. My hand reaches for it before I can stop myself and my fingers touch the solid, sleek surface. Pure gold. Heavy gold. How much would it be worth in modern currency? But I know it’s too valuable to sell. I stare at the object. Ironically, I admire the craftsmanship: pure perfection, just like the pyramids. The irony that a rowdy, dirty town of thieves has contributed to this magnificent beautiful object, isn’t lost on me.

I only have to carry this Item over to the bed to smash his skull in. To dig the sharp, pointy tip into his temple, to slam it into skin and bone. Just one blow with the mere weight of the Puzzle, and he won’t ever wake up again. Just look at him, in all his vulnerable glory; naked as the day he was born, spend and used, sleeping in blissful ignorance, amazing arrogance, counting on waking up in the morning. Maybe it would be fun to draw out his vessel, his Other, and make him beg for his life while holding the Puzzle up in front of him.

It’s not going to happen. I have to restrain myself. Unlike the other, I haven’t forgotten. I remember the time of Pharaoh and Thief King, I remember those stolen moments in the royal palace, when his guards would run outside in panic, searching for that miscreant daring to tread on sacred ground. There wasn’t so much sacred about a Pharaoh, lying naked under you, his lips attached to your throat, his breathe warm and tickling, his voice heavy with lust, demanding to take him… and I complied, using my red cloak as a cover, as a blanket to cover his erratic breathing and his cries…

I have forgotten if he cried out my name. He has forgotten everything. “Lucky fuck,” I mutter under my breath as I sit down on the bed again. I only need to put on my shoes. The Puzzle resides on the desk, defiled by my touch, but not moved an inch. It’s his. I have no use for it, yet. I twist a little, so I can touch him, my hand on his face. Mumbling something unintelligible, he leans into my touch. His body hasn’t forgotten. It still responds the same to me as three thousand years ago. My lips curl into a smile of pleasant arrogance. 

“I hope you had a wonderful night,” I say, keeping my voice low. An attentive lover would’ve covered him up with a blanket, tucked him in, kissed him goodnight. I’m not attentive. I’m selfish. I made sure I got the most pleasure out of it. “I had. We’ll do this again sometime soon, okay? When you’ve taken another step closer. When you’ve learned more. When you have forgotten less.”

I ran my thumb over his cheek. Despite the change in body, he still looks beautiful. Smooth. Polished. High-born. The fact that he cries and begs for a lowlife thief to take him, is the more amusing to me. I wonder how his vessel feels about this, if he already knows. Mutou Yuugi… he was smart and perseverant enough to solve the Puzzle in the first place, so there must be something to him that has eluded me so far. I don’t regard him as a very powerful player on the field, though. He might be deserving of my attention later on, and in the meantime it might be fun if my yadonushi-sama approaches him, trying to find out what exactly he knows about what’s happening.

“You’re lucky you’ve forgotten everything,” I say. Very gently and very lightly, I tap on his lips. “I know how happy you are with your friends and how you’ve made many new memories with them.” I lean into him, my lips close to his. “I fucking _despise_ you for your happy memories and your loving fun with your _friends_ ,” I all but growl and he reacts; a whimper, a gasp, a hitch in his throat and for a moment I think I have woken him up. He frowns, brows knitting together in some kind of disgust and he parts his lips. I expect him to open his eyes and yell at me, but nothing happens. He sighs and turns his head to the right, his rest uninterrupted.

I want to slap him. I want to beat him. I want to curl my hands around his tender throat and choke the life out of him. I want to tie him down and unleash my anger and fury and scream at him why have you fucking forgotten? But I know the reason why, and it’s painful and beautiful at the same time. I only wish I had retained one piece of information, one little bit of knowledge more: his name. I would’ve made him scream it, or perhaps I would’ve screamed it myself. Blissful, sweet peace… for now. 

My fingers trace the outline of his face, dabbing at his jaw line. “One day,” I promise him, “sooner or later, I’ll make you wish you’ve never forgotten. All your memories will come flooding back to you, in all their painful glory, in all their heart-wrenching hatred and anger. It’ll drive you mad, o Exalted One, and you’ll lash out at everyone around you, feeling betrayed and hurt. Maybe I’ll be there to pick up the pieces, I don’t know. Maybe I’ll be angered myself, disappointed that you’ve forgotten all about me. No one uses the Thief King. No one turns the tables on him. I’ll make you beg for your life, for your friends’ lives, for the entire world. Perhaps I’ll listen. Perhaps I have forgotten to listen.”

I can’t help myself, I have to give him one more kiss. I don’t know how long it’ll take before we’ll be ‘together’ like this. We both know it’s a game. We both know the Shadows are involved. We know that one of us is going to die, if not both. A kiss on the cheek, then. I receive another sigh in return. I get up from the bed, locate my shoes and put them on. Maybe it’s not that bad to have forgotten. We all will be forgotten one day. What will become of us, apart from floating memories in the vast space of darkness? Endlessly moving around in the Shadow Realm, without a conscience, without any notion? It doesn’t matter. It doesn’t matter at all. I want my revenge, and I will get it - that’s something I’ve never forgotten about.

\------------------------------------


	7. Never get out of here Alive

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Even in the most hopeless situations, pacts can be born.

Title: Never get out of here Alive  
Theme number and theme: #9, Tournament  
Genre: general  
Rating: M  
Warnings (if any): none.  
Characters: Yami no Bakura, Yami no Malik  
Short summary: Even in the most hopeless situations, pacts can be born.

\---------------------------------------------

Look at him standing over there. A little hunched over the bed, talking to himself, holding a golden, shining object in his hand. I observe him from my beloved shadows, providing a safe cover until it’s time to reveal myself. I would feel pity for the man in the bed, obviously in a coma - Malik has told me he’s his adoptive brother called Rishid - but pity is for the weak, and my sense of pity has been warped through the ages of wandering around in pure, unadulterated Darkness. In short: I couldn’t care less if that man is killed or not. He’s a bystander, a comatose one to boot; he doesn’t contribute to the game, he doesn’t attribute to the setting. Collateral damage. He has no link to the Pharaoh and he isn’t the Pharaoh himself, so why would I even care?

 _Save him_ , the voice in the back of my mind keeps calling out to me. _Save my brother!_ I don’t like taking orders. Wouldn’t it be amusing to just keep standing here, and let the events play out..? I haven’t seen human blood in a long, long time. I watch with growing interest. He’s fidgeting with the object, one of the seven majestic artifacts known as the Sennen Items. I widen my eyes. I didn’t know there was a dagger concealed in the Sennen Rod! What do you know, you learn something new every day. _Savehimsavehimsavehim_ , the voice has become a loud wail. Impressive. I didn’t expect Malik Ishtar to have this much strength. For now, he’s reduced to a mere spiritual presence and his original body is standing next to the bed. If I’m not fast enough, he’s going to kill Rishid after all.

I allow the Ring to chime before I step out of the shadows. It’s always such a sense of satisfaction, seeing someone look up with either fear or surprise in their eyes when they hear that sound. The dark side of Malik Ishtar surprises _me_ by not even looking up. I can see him scowling though, but he doesn’t plunge the dagger into the man in the bed. In fact, he slowly turns to me, visibly angry.

“Sorry for interrupting you,” I say. That anger, that hatred in his eyes… it’s invigorating, sending delicious chills down my spine. I recognize that hatred, and if shadows were able to eat, they’d have a massive banquet with this guy’s hatred. Quite ironic that his original personality, now seeking refuge in my mind, is such a pathetic whiny mess, still wailing about his brother.

“You must have a very good reason,” he answers, leaving the “…or else…” unspoken. His voice is just a little lower than regular Malik’s, but the disdain and arrogance he speaks with, is delectable. It’s going to be my pleasure to bring him down on his knees and make him plead for his life. 

“You know who I am?” I ask.

“The Spirit of the Ring.” Good, so he’s been paying attention at least since my duel with the Pharaoh. Or perhaps he knows me from the beginning, when I ran in front of Malik’s motorcycle to stop him. I had sensed the wielder of another Sennen Item, and we made our first pact in that back alley. Not even Malik himself is sure when his darker side was actually sentient or aware of everything that’s been happening in this tournament. 

“And you are…” I can’t finish my sentence as he uses the power of the Sennen Rod to push me back, and I smack against the wall painfully. The wind is knocked out of me, and I gasp, clutching at my chest. Malik has warned me for this. His darker half is exactly who he said he would be: violent, _dark_. I should’ve expected this. I try to laugh it off, but he stopped paying attention to me. Instead, he has turned to the bed again, lifting up the Rod. My Ring chimes again, paralyzing him.

“What are you _doing_?” he growls.

“I’m not afraid of you.” I lower the tone of my voice. “The powers of our Items are equal.”

“Perhaps we should settle this in another way.” Funny how he doesn’t seem impressed. Most people would scream and beg when confronted with such powers. It’s an exciting thought that this one may be the hardest to bring down. It’s been a while since I’ve been challenged like this. I allow the Ring to cancel its powers and the dark entity can move freely again. He taps on the Dueling Disk attached to his left arm. “A duel? A battle for my poor _shujinkaku-sama_ ’s body and soul?”

I make a dismissive gesture with my arm. “No, not for his body or soul.” 

That surprises him. He really thought this was about his body, the original Malik’s body. He’s still surprisingly calm though, with only the anger showing on his face, not in his voice. His movements are controlled, and there’s this hint of amusement surrounding him, as if this is one big joke, one big fun playtime thing to him. I… don’t like unpredictability very much. I have never factored a person like Malik’s darker personality in my plans and I’m usually not quick to adapt. However, this is an opportunity I can’t pass on. If I win this duel, I can get the Rod in my hands. I point at the Rod and he lifts it.

“This?” Now he sounds possessive. He doesn’t like the idea of betting his beloved Item. 

“I gladly accept your challenge,” I say. 

“Are you sure you’re up to this?” Taunting. “Maybe you should go back to bed and rest up, after what Osiris did to you.”

“I’m _fine_ ,” I snarl at him and immediately berate myself mentally. Taking Osiris’ attack full-on was a huge setback. My host’s body hasn’t fully recovered yet. After winning the Rod from Malik’s dark half, I really do need to go back to bed. I can’t run the risk of collapsing.   
“Let’s go upstairs to the dueling ring.”

“Tsk, tsk, such hurry.” He screws the cap back on, excruciatingly slow. His eyes rest upon me; now I notice he has no pupils. Weird. How can he keep such a calm, blank exterior with so much hatred and anger running underneath? Somehow he forces me to wait, to watch his movements. 

“What’s the delay?” I ask. He cradles the Sennen Rod to his chest, fingers running up and down the long shaft. 

“The winner gets the Rod,” he says. “And the loser..?”

“Well, a one-way trip to the Shadow Realm, of course.”

He grins at me. “So you’re not going to fight over my body? How does my _shujinkaku-sama_ feel about that?”

“I don’t know and I don’t care.” I wander my mind just briefly, in search of Malik, but I can’t find him. Maybe he has retreated into the farthest corners, and I don’t have the time to poke him out of his lethargic state. He promised me to help me with the duel - he knows his own deck best and besides the Rod, obtaining the Winged Dragon of Ra would be an even sweeter victory. Malik is desperate enough to have his original body destroyed, and I can always evict him from my mind, a residue of a weak personality is not difficult to erase.

His eyes travel over _my_ body and come to a rest at the Ring. “You’re a fool if you’re collecting all the Items.”

I touch the Ring in an almost identical possessive manner. “So what if I am? It doesn’t concern you.”

“You’re right.” He turns away from the bed, the dark purple cape swishing behind him. For now, this Rishid is safe. Hopefully he appreciates the great sacrifice of his younger brother. It’s amusing. Humans and their ‘sacrifices’ are so amusing. But now I have to deal with an entity of darkness, and it gets my blood boiling. Annoyance, excitement, anticipation and apprehension. “What do you say, when I suggest we should up the ante?”

“What do you mean?”

He tilts his head in almost child-like curiosity. “The duel. Let’s turn it into a Shadow Game.”

My blood isn’t boiling, it’s howling. The taste of the shadows, the stress of the dark, ominous Realm, the chill and the devouring heat, all together... it’s calling for me, it wants me back, it wants me to control it. I _am_ the Darkness. Why should I be afraid? I played Shadow Games from the moment I was born. I don’t hesitate.

“I can’t wait,” I say.

\---------------------------------------------


	8. Chained by the Clock

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> There's always time to get to know your enemy better.

Title: Chained by the clock  
Theme number and theme: # 8, Time  
Genre: general, introspective  
Rating: M  
Warnings (if any): none  
Characters: Yami no Bakura, Yami no Yuugi  
Short summary: There's always time to get to know your enemy better.

\---------------------------------------------

I pour the tea. I can be polite if I want to. Most of the time, I choose to be rude and curt - I don’t care for nice manners, unlike my _yadonushi-sama_ , my Host. But even for him, I wouldn’t pour tea. Today, I’m in the rare company of a Pharaoh; ‘Other Yuugi’, as he calls himself, as he doesn’t know his own name. It’s a pity, truly; I’d like to know his name as well.

“I hope you like it,” I say pleasantly. “It’s Gyokuro tea. Cultivated only in the Uji District, it generally sells for $650 for 1000 grams.”

He wraps his long, slender fingers around the teacup and lifts it up. He’s not speaking; maybe he’s wondering where I got the tea from, maybe he’s wondering why I invited him for tea in the first place. He inhales the delicate aroma though, and sips gently, sampling the magnificent taste. I appreciate him taking his time to enjoy the exquisite blend, not gulping it down like some boorish commoner. But ah, well, this is the Pharaoh I’m entertaining; not a normal person, not a commoner by far.

It’s a funny thought, actually. Two Kings at one table and we’re gauging each other’s reactions carefully, examining and weighing our words and our emotions. He’s got every reason to distrust me, of course. After what happened during Duelist Kingdom, he regards me with a healthy dose of suspicion. Still, his curiosity got the better of him, hence his acceptance of my invitation.

I present him a small plate with dates on it, neatly arranged and cut into thin slices, as in the spokes of a wheel. Of course he takes a slice; how often would he be able to eat this product from his ancient homeland in the Mutou household? I watch him savor the taste.

“Unfortunately, it’s not exactly as it used to be at home,” I say, and to my disappointment he doesn’t react to ‘home’. He knows so little, and deep down I’m aching to fill him in on some details, but now it’s not the time. Not yet. 

“You certainly have made a great effort,” he says, meeting my gaze, “to create a comfortable setting.” His hand goes to his chest thought, fingers touching the heavy chain around his neck. 

I’m not interested in his Sennen Puzzle, even though I wear my Ring out in the open as well; we’re both wielders of these Items, why not show it? “I am glad that you did not choose to have your host involved in all of this.”

Well, who did all the grocery shopping and cutting the dates..? Does he really think _I_ bothered to do such menial tasks? It’s a moot point though, but I make a mental note to thank my yadonushi-sama later. I can hear him humming in the back of my mind, oblivious to what’s going on. 

“I’m just as protective of my host as you are of your vessel,” I tell him, a little airily. He purses he lips, almost like a pout; he doesn’t like his precious partner to be referred to as a mere ‘vessel’. I don’t care. His oh-so-wonderful bond with his sickly-happy friends is going to kill him in the end, even if I have to take personally care of it. “We are much more alike than you think.”

He’s not happy with that thought at all. Poor Pharaoh, his face is like an open book to me. 

“What is your intention with all of this?”

I expect him to throw his tea at me, dainty and huffing like a young girl, rejected by her object of affection. It’s not that I think of him like that, though I have entertained the possibilities in my mind, but he reminds me of a young child, covering up his innocent-naivety by acting extremely confident and secure. But I know how far from innocent he truly is. It’ll be revealed to him, all in due time.

“Kaiba announced his plans for Battle City yesterday.”

“Are you going to participate?” The anxiety in his voice is from excitement, not from fear. I have to give him credit for at least one thing: he won’t back out of a challenge quickly, and he enjoys facing tough opponents. I’m not going to disappoint him in that department. 

“I might.” I take precious time to enjoy my cup of tea; my Host was very surprised when he found it in one of his kitchen cabinets, not remembering ever having bought it. Of course I didn’t make him pay for it; how could he ever afford it? 

“Are you after the God Cards?” His confusion is adorable. I’m not sure where he got that knowledge from, perhaps he spoke to Kaiba, or he has obtained that information through his vessel… it doesn’t matter, it’s not that important. I don’t care for the God Cards anyway. “Last time, you wanted to take my Puzzle.”

Again that stroke with his fingers, this time touching the artifact, in a protective, possessive manner. I know it all too well. 

“Don’t worry,” I say even though my fingers are itching to take the Item away from him. And choke him with that chain while I’m at it. Patience, sweet patience. I’ve got all the time in the world. “I’ll make my true intentions known, soon…” My voice trails off on purpose. He sends me an annoyed look, but I refuse to elaborate.

“Who are you?” he asks brusquely. I send him a pleasant smile in return.

“That’s for me to know.” Delicious, delicious tea. “You’ll find out. You still have some time left.”

His lips curl into a snarl, but he doesn’t speak. His posture is rigid though, and I revel in his ignorance. He doesn’t know what I’ve got in store for him, and I intend it to enjoy it to the fullest. I offer him the plate with the dates once more, and it takes him visible restraint to not tremble as he picks another slice. I shouldn’t underestimate his willpower, I remind myself. He battled Pegasus and his mind tricks, and he emerged as the winner. I hadn’t really expected anything otherwise; even though he’s barely aware of it, there’s millennia old of Pharaoh-ness instilled in him, so to say - he has retained his Pharaonic mindset and composure throughout all that time, centuries of time, wandering around in his Puzzle. He plays to win. He knows how to win.

I’m not a bad opponent myself. I’m going to give him hell. The reason why I invited him over, was not to antagonize him. Not to befriend him. Not to butter him up. I want to gain insight in my enemy, in what he’s thinking, in what he’s doing… so far, he’s as docile as a lamb; he doesn’t know yet, he doesn’t realize all the stakes, the entire magnitude of the game. Or does he, and he’s playing me now, by pretending to be ignorant? It’s exciting, it’s thrilling. No shadows at the moment, no dark, mysterious realms - just the two of us, seated opposite each other, politely having tea. 

“Will you tell me how much… or how little time is left?” He knows I know, and he recognizes me as a challenger. Good. I almost want to give him a pat on the shoulder.

“Just wait until Battle City,” I say ominously. Damn, but his eyes are hypnotizing. “Then the game will start.” I can’t really determine whether he’s somehow mocking me or overestimating me. I’d like to strip him of his arrogance and dig deep into his psyche, establishing once and for all what he truly thinks of me. I didn’t think I’d care, but I do. I want to know where I stand. I want to know what my starting position is in this game. He has his friends. He has his vessel. He has already gathered more people around me than I’ve ever had in my life. I like to work alone, but perhaps this time, I need some allies myself. This time. This time it’s going to be one hell of a ride.

“I thank you for the tea,” he says and stands up from the chair. I follow his example. We’re not bowing to each other for obvious reasons. 

“You’re welcome,” I say, even though it’s the biggest lie in the entire universe. I’m proud of myself, for not jumping at him to kill him, and to receive him as a guest in my house instead. I can’t help myself from taunting him a little, however. “Take good care of yourself.”

The look on his face is priceless. I shut the door quietly. I don’t allow my yadonushi-sama to take control of his body again so soon. I have to think. Time has taught me to be cautious, time has taught me to make plans, and plan for the absolutely worst thing that could ever happen. 

Maybe I won’t need them after all, and I’ll have to improvise… perhaps time’s running out faster than I thought.

\--------------------------------------


	9. There's no telling what I wnt to tell you

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hatred and pain festers in one’s heart, but what has truth got to do with it?

Title: There’s no telling what I want to tell you  
Theme number and theme: # 5, Truth  
Genre: introspective   
Rating: M  
Warnings(if any): mentions of gore and violence  
Character or pairing: Yami no Malik  
Short summary: Hatred and pain festers in one’s heart, but what has truth got to do with it?

Key: ---------------- = scene change

\------------------------------------

I hate you. I hate you too. I’ve always hated you. The moment I saw you, I hated you. I know you’re not surprised by this, but on the other hand, you’re not very bright. To think that you are supposed to be the dominant personality, actually makes me laugh. You’re pathetic. You cry hot tears every night that you’re so afraid of the dark. You ask your sister to keep on a nightlight. You ask your brother to tuck you in at night so you know there aren’t any monsters around.

I’m the biggest monster of all, and I’m you. A monster called truth, and you know it. Deep down, you know it all, you know it very well, but you pretend that nothing’s wrong, there’s no darkness, la la la, happy unicorn paradise rainbow land. 

That’s why I hate you the most. You’re a weak, pathetic, whining coward. If it weren’t for me picking up the Rod, you would still live according to your father’s will… or should I say, your father’s tyranny? Have you forgotten how he _smiled_ , when heating the blade in the light of a candle? You should be thankful, grateful, that I took care of that problem. I killed him, I stabbed him and skinned him alive, tore it straight off of him and smelled his blood, _tasted_ it, so salty and coppery and sweet at the same time, delicious delicious.

But no. You had to scream and yell and cry for your big brother, you baby. You had to be comforted by him, who’s not even a _real_ Ishtar by birth. He’s merely adopted, he should be nothing more to you than a simple servant. You care for him because you had nobody else to turn to, and he listened patiently to your crying and wailing, and dried your precious tears.

I tell you the truth. I’m the truth. There’s nothing dishonest about me and I don’t tell lies. You can deny it as much as you want, but you know it, and I know you know. You want your revenge, but you don’t want the consequences. You want to get out of your shell, but you’re afraid, that your plans will fail, that you won’t get what you want, or what you feel you’re entitled too.

You gave me full reign once. You can do it again. The truth is, deep down somewhere in that weak, feeble body of yours, or perhaps deep down somewhere in that conflicted, soft brain of yours, you want more. It feels _good_ to hold the Rod and plunge it deep into tender flesh. To withdraw it and lick the blood off of the dagger, and feel how the razor sharp blade cuts your tongue; blood mixed with blood, divine liquid, nectar of the Gods… I’m sure you would like the taste, if you give it a chance. 

That control, to _be_ in control… to not cower behind your silly ‘fears’, but to take matters into your own hands. A dagger. A knife. A gun. A sword. What better way to take care of problems than to solve with violence? You think there’s no truth in violence? That it’s not the answer? Well, is your father bothering you still? Is he still carrying that whip of his around, to beat you? I don’t see him, that man who grinned when he carved your back, and I grinned along, because I loved the pain. It was so warm and so heavenly, the tip of that knife, so hot and sharp.. it didn’t cut, it melted the flesh away and forced it to take shape, pushing the skin into a mold.

Truthfully, I enjoyed the ceremony. I don’t know the meaning of the word ‘painful’. Everything is painful to you. The memory of your murdered father, so you pushed it away. The memory of the Pharaoh, so you set out to seek your revenge. The memory of living underground, so you stay on a boat or you ride your bike, just to get away from a building. Should I tell you to confront your fears? Should I tell you to take the plunge, to jump into the deep? No. I like you scared and sour, because it feeds me. I _want_ you to be angry and full and pain and self-pity. It’s the truth, isn’t it? You hate me because I am you, because I hate you, because life hates you and you hate everything about life.

Now now, don’t be upset. You don’t have to listen to me. The truth is always hard they say, but I’ve got a quick solution and no, it doesn’t involve violence, for once. You can always deny truth. You can always ignore it. It doesn’t exist! Problem solved! There’s no truth but _your_ truth, and the rest can go to hell. They can all fall into the darkness, into nothingness, and curse each other for not paying better attention. For not fighting back. They will claw at each other just for their own survival, gouge each other’s eyes out and cut off their lips, using their nails to split and splice their sweet flesh, and cry, cry delicious cries of anguish, just like you do. 

You don’t like the truth? Change it. Challenge it. Cherish your denial. Comfort yourself with your lies and your hatred, use it as a cloak, as a blanket, as a cover. It’s so beautiful, why should you be ever afraid of hatred? Of darkness? You were born into it, you gave birth to me because of it - why, you should make love to the darkness, embrace it, touch it, _kiss_ it; it’s where you belong, safely in its arms. 

You didn’t expect to hear this, did you? And even if you did, you won’t pay attention to it, you’ll deny it just like you deny everything. Your delicious truth is your own, but it’s a bunch of lies. I’m your truth. Pure, unadulterated hate. Pain. Anger. Destruction. Darkness. Why even bother to hide from it? All this light doesn’t serve a purpose. Friends don’t serve a purpose, family… hah! Family is not an anchor, it’s ballast; why would you need your precious brother and sister when you have _me_? 

I understand you. I know exactly how you feel. I _am_ you, interior and exterior, inside and outside, from that cramped smile on your face to your wicked self-loathing in your heart. I would almost pity you, if I knew _how_ to pity; I only hate, remember?

Truth. It’s nothing but a concept. Love. Friends. Family. Pharaoh. It’s not that hard. Just words. Think of it as a concept, that you can mold and knead to your own liking. Of course I’m telling you to lie. A lie is another concept, why should you feel bad about it? What’s that, you say? It hurts your family when you lie? Pffrt, a lie is just a lie. Another concept, get it? If they choose to get upset by their own perception of the truth, which is a lie to you anyway, who is lying? It’s not your problem how they view your words. Come on, don’t be so afraid.

I have always told you the truth. I have never beaten around the bush. You’re an instrument of darkness and you want revenge and you’re full of hatred and anger. What do you expect? Do you want to drink tea with your sister and perpetuate the traditions of your tribe? Do you want to plant flowers and roses and take care of them? Admit it, you’re not the nurturing kind - you’re the destructive kind.

One thing’s true about the truth, though. It’s cold. And hard. And dark. Exactly the way I like it. I’ll be waiting for you until you realize it, and accept it with all your hatred and anger. Nothing beats hateful truth. It’s a catalyst. It’s a motivator. It’s who you are.

\------------------------------------


End file.
